


Morning

by kathierif_fic



Series: Pepper-the-Cat [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, M/M, cat!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathierif_fic/pseuds/kathierif_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint wakes up at the sound of a door getting carefully pushed closed. Using only his ears, he tracks movement to his bedside.</p>
<p>If he wanted to prevent an attack with a preemptive strike, he should do it right this second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt "morning breath" for cottoncandy_bingo on DW and part of the pepper-the-cat-verse :)

Clint wakes up at the sound of a door getting carefully pushed closed. He doesn’t move a single muscle, simply waits for the soft steps, the quiet murmur and the clink of china to move deeper into the room, closer to the bed. Using only his ears, he tracks movement, across the hardwood floor, the small round carpet that looks like Cap’s shield, and to his bedside.

If he wanted to prevent an attack with a preemptive strike, he should do it right this second, slam the tray this person is carrying up, hope that what’s on it is heavy and hot and burning their face, roll over, to the other side of the bed, and scream for JARVIS to assemble the Avengers in his bedroom because Hawkeye managed to get in trouble while lying in bed and recuperating from a broken leg.

A leg he is silently cursing right now. If not for the leg, he wouldn’t need any help at all to take care of himself, to protect himself, to do even as little as get up and get around the tower. He hates the crutches and he hates the pain and he hates everything, and there is still someone in his bedroom.

“Hey,” Phil murmurs. “I know you’re awake.”

Of course he does. Clint exhales and feels himself relax, the subtle tension in his muscles, unnoticeable for anyone but Phil and Natasha, disappearing. 

“How is the leg?” Phil continues.

“Hrm,” Clint says and finally opens his eyes. Phil is standing next to the bed, balancing a tray and looking at him with a faint smile, the lines at the corners of his eyes more pronounced than usual. “Tony was here yesterday, measuring me for a robot leg.”

Phil’s smile deepens. “Maybe Tony should hold off on the surgery. I hear you’re healing well, would be a shame to cut your leg off when it’s perfectly fine.” He places the tray on the bedside table, not before making some room – the arrow tip prototypes go into the drawer, the little fuzzy mouse too, and the painkillers get pushed slightly out of the way. Clint has been refusing to take them since the day before, insisting that he finally reached a point where lying in bed wasn’t painful anymore. “I brought you breakfast.”

Phil sits down on the edge of the bed, by Clint’s hip, and leans down to kiss Clint’s temple briefly. Clint’s fingers reach up and tangle in his tie, to hold him there for a moment, and Phil hums, a happy little sound, and kisses the top of his head.

“Pancakes?” Clint asks and sits up carefully, to let Phil push several pillows behind his back. His broken leg itches, and he does his best to ignore it. Phil is here right now, and he won’t ruin both their days by being a miserable idiot first thing in the morning.

“Waffles,” Phil says and brushes his fingers along Clint’s cheek. “And coffee.”

“Awesome,” Clint says and manages a grin, and Phil leans in for a kiss that starts out tame and gentle, but quickly grows deeper, Phil’s tongue pushing into Clint’s mouth and exploring leisurely. 

Phil tastes like syrup and coffee, and Clint pulls back with a small sound of protest and turns his head away.

“What?” Phil asks, suddenly concerned. “Are you in pain? Should I get Bruce? Do you want a pill? Do I need to make a call?”

“I’m fine,” Clint says with a shake of his head. “Stop motherhenning, Phil, I’m…” Before he can finish his sentence, Phil reaches out and catches his chin with his fingers, to make Clint look him in the eye.

“What is it?” he asks, and Clint squirms and winces when it jars his leg.

“I’m fine, really, Phil,” he says, and a serious frown starts to appear on Phil’s forehead, right between his eyebrows, and Clint explains in a grumble, “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Phil is staring at him as if he just confessed to some heinous crime, and Clint grows uncomfortable under the weight of that stare and starts fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

“You haven’t brushed your teeth yet,” he finally repeats, and Clint shrugs.

Phil sighs. He reaches for Clint’s shoulder, the back of his neck, and pulls him close. At first, their lips just brush, a teasing, brief contact before Phil presses his lips more firmly against Clint’s, slightly parted already and with the tip of his tongue touching Clint’s bottom lip and slipping along it, brief little flicks that make Clint want more. He relaxes just enough to let Phil’s tongue inside and Phil takes him up on the invitation. His hands are framing Clint’s face now, his thumbs brushing gently along his cheeks, and Clint blindly reaches out and takes a hold of Phil’s tie again. He uses it to hold Phil close, and the kiss turns filthy, Phil pretty much fucking his mouth with his tongue while holding Clint’s head steady with both hands.

By the time they pull apart, Clint’s lips feel swollen and puffy. He licks them to chase even the last hint of Phil’s taste and grins, pleased with himself.

“Come on, breakfast,” Phil tells him. His voice is rough and filled with emotions. “You need to eat something.”

He places the tray in Clint’s lap, but instead of getting up and leaving, he stays where he is and chats a little, about his new assignment and the trials and tribulations of posing as a high school principal. Clint listens and adds a comment here and there.

He still can’t believe that Phil gave up his big dream – working with the Avengers – for Clint. The initiative has been the center of Phil’s professional life for years now, and he’s worked relentlessly to move all the pieces into place. He’s been to New Mexico for Thor and Dr. Foster, he has been to California and Washington D.C. and all over the world for Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, he’s run interference with the military for Bruce Banner, and in between all that, he has worked with Clint and Natasha and has saved their asses more than once while at the same time evaluating them for the initiative.

The Avengers are as much Phil’s baby as they are Fury’s, and it really is not fair that Fury kicked Phil off of the project without hesitation.

Well, Clint is an agent of SHIELD first and foremost, and he goes where Fury needs him to go, and if Fury sends him there with Sitwell as a liaison, Clint won’t protest. He can work with almost all of SHIELD’s handlers, he’s a professional, and he has honestly no idea where the idea that he’s difficult to work with came from.

Up until Loki, he’s been one of the best and most reliable assets SHIELD had to offer.

“Stop thinking,” Phil tells him now. “I like this assignment.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers along Clint’s shoulder. “A lot can be said about high school, but it’s a regular schedule and I can be home with you every night at a reasonable time.”

Clint manages a smile. “It’s creepy, how you always know what I’m thinking,” he accuses lightly.

Phil bites his lip. “I don’t,” he admits. “Most of the time, I’m as clueless as the rest of the world. I can’t stop myself from saying stupid things sometimes, and I can’t stop myself from doing stupid things that end up hurting you.” He shrugs and doesn’t meet Clint’s eyes for a moment, and Clint finishes his breakfast in silence.

Phil helps Clint move the tray back to the bedside table, but when he wants to get up, Clint’s hands on his tie stop him.

“Do we need to talk about this again?” Clint asks him.

Phil shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m good. Thank you.”

They have talked a lot during the past few weeks, since Clint broke his leg and Phil was re-assigned. There wasn’t much else to do for them. Sitwell is a competent agent, he smoothly took over Phil’s office in the Tower and his duties as SHIELD-liaison, and Phil had to wait for his principal-assignment to start, and since Clint couldn’t do anything but sit on his ass, they took the time and talked.

They talked a lot, about a wide range of topics, until they both agreed that they reached a good place from where they can continue to build their relationship.

“You sure?” Clint asks.

Phil nods. “I’m sure,” he agrees. “I just really want to kiss you again.”

Clint grins. “Well,” he says and leans back into his pillows, “since you don’t seem to mind my morning breath, and you have brushed your teeth, I have no objections to that plan.”

“Clint,” Phil says earnestly. “I almost lost you, in more ways than once. I love you, and I don’t care about morning breath. I just really want to kiss you.”

It’s not often that Phil says it out loud. There is no doubt that he loves Clint – he makes sure to show it in a hundred different subtle ways, now that he feels he has the right to get close to Clint again – but he’s said the words only a handful of times. It makes a soft shiver run down Clint’s back.

“You’re a romantic,” he teases gently, because if he doesn’t say anything now, he will explode, but he responds eagerly when Phil’s fingers curl into his hair and hold him still for another deep kiss. He returns it easily, their tongues gliding wetly together and Phil’s fingers slide slowly under the hem of Clint’s t-shirt.

His hand is on Clint’s chest, teasing a nipple between two fingers with the shirt rucked up to Clint’s armpits when suddenly, a small weight lands on the blanket by Clint’s feet and they pull apart reluctantly.

Pepper-the-cat looks at them as if she knows exactly what they’ve been up to, what she interrupted, and Phil chuckles and helps Clint to get his clothes back in order and get himself into a comfortable position.

“I need to go anyways,” he says and kisses Clint’s temple. “Work.”

“Can’t you be late for school?” Clint teases, but he doesn’t try to hold Phil back when he straightens and brings his shirt and tie back in order.

“I’m still trying to find my way around that office,” Phil admits and leans down, to rub Pepper-the-cat behind the ears. When he straightens, the cat gets up, presses herself against Phil’s hands, and when Phil pets her only briefly before disappearing into the bathroom, she huffs and carefully picks her way across the uneven terrain of the blankets to curl up on Clint’s chest with a happy purr.

“Yeah,” Clint murmurs and curls his hands around her. “Because this way, I will manage to get up to brush my teeth in the near future.”

Instead of replying, Pepper stretches her legs and yawns widely before curling up, her nose tucked into Clint’s neck. Her morning breath, Clint decides, is definitely far worse than his own, and if Phil loves her despite the smell, it’s definitely okay for Clint to wait until he absolutely needs to get up and go to the bathroom before he brushes his teeth.

Phil wanders back in and places a water glass on Clint’s bedside table, together with the remote and Clint’s phone and the StarkPad Tony gave him before he makes sure the crutches are within easy reach.

“Have a good day,” he says, and, “I love you. Both of you.”

He kisses Clint, pets Pepper, and then, he grabs his briefcase and leaves, for another day at the office, and Clint closes his eyes again and listens to Pepper purr softly.

He can’t wait for his leg to heal.


End file.
